


The Bed We've Made

by ThereIsNoTragedyInThat



Series: Where the Line Ended [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Boys In Love, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Don't copy to another site, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, M/M, NADA ZIP DONE, No Teams, Oneshot, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), YOU HEAR ME???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 08:49:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20061286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat/pseuds/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat
Summary: In the aftermath of Civil War, Bucky and Steve face what they've done. Where there is guilt and a little bit of comfort and a lot of being human.There will be no teams. Both sides are valid and are represented as such here.





	The Bed We've Made

Steve knocked gently against the ornate door; ears perked for any sound within. It had been almost seventy-two hours since the conflict in Siberia and he wasn’t sure he could take another moment in the presence of Wanda and Natasha’s pitying gazes.

They were safe here for now. It was an old hotel but not rundown enough for fugitives. It was classic, pretty, something he was sure Peggy would have liked. They had all been giving Bucky some space, though Sam had been posted at the end of the hall just in case. Steve already knew they would have to move out in the morning, but they all needed a night to recuperate, for several reasons.

“Buck?”

“Come in Steve,” the sound of his voice, weary and exasperated was enough to send his stomach into knots. But he’d never been a coward and he wasn’t going to start now, not when Bucky needed him, not when enough betrayal had happened today.

The door was unlocked, and Steve strode in only to slump the moment it shut behind him, leaving behind the others. Bucky stood at the window, shirtless with light bruising decorating his back and side, gazing almost wistfully outside.

He should tell him to move away from the glass. Easy target for snipers. Risky to show his face to anyone passing by. He didn’t. The tension in his broad shoulders was familiar, weighed down by more years then either of them had expected. Guilt too, worked wonders on one’s body, Steve should know.

Bucky didn’t turn around, so Steve rolled his neck and began the arduous process of peeling off his uniform. Something felt final about it, different. Maybe it was because he wasn’t a solider anymore, not really.

Blood glistened on his knuckles and Steve had to take a careful breath to control himself, blinking back images of Tony’s face, his expression as his best friend turned on him. Shame, when it bloomed inside him, was a familiar sensation and he didn’t dare turn away from it.

Quite suddenly the space in front of him was taken up by another body. Strong clever fingers and slightly clumsier metal ones began helping him strip. The movements weren’t seductive or even all that comforting, they were experienced and dutiful. Steve found himself grateful.

Soon enough he was standing in only his boxers and Bucky was walking out of the bathroom with a washcloth. It was overkill but the action itself was filled to bursting with nostalgia, fuzzy memories surging to the forefront and leaving Steve feeling horribly vulnerable.

As if he knew, because he always knew, Bucky directed him to sit on the bed, knelt in front of him and began to clean broken skin, dirt, and blood from his body. It was impossible to count how many times they’d done this. Steve would show up after a long day traversing the streets of Brooklyn and one too many fights and Bucky would shake his head with exasperation and direct him to the small little bathroom where he’d be guided to sit on the edge of the tub. Buck would then proceed to clean him up, all the while, giving a long lecture on his actions.

There was no lecture today.

There were no snippy remarks, or Steve’s proud description of his fight. No, today wasn’t a day for victory but for mourning. He wasn’t sorry for doing what he had to do in order to protect Buck, but there was no foreseeable moment in the rest of his life that he wouldn’t regret Tony getting stuck in the crossfire.

“Is it wrong,” Steve ventured quietly. “To say I miss the old days?”

Steely blue eyes met his and finally the smallest of smiles crooked his lips, “nah, I miss them too. Things used to be a lot easier when the enemy was just the man shootin’ at you.” Then with too much perception giving the fact that Bucky had been on the run this whole time; “We’re soldiers Steve, not politicians. We aren’t made for this kind of fighting; things were a lot simpler back then.”

Bucky sat back on his heels, running a weary hand through his hair and Steve’s heart swelled. After Peggy, Steve had felt set adrift. There had been nobody who remembered the war like he did, remembered all things he’d grown up on. He’d been truly alone for the first time and it had broken something inside him. Steve had started to wonder what good he was here.

Then Bucky popped up. Saving his ass just like always. He wasn’t alone anymore.

Steve reached forward, suddenly needing contact and Bucky obliged him, taking his hand so that they were connected like that between them, even if everything else was wrong. Bucky gave him a strained smile, glanced at the uniform piled on the ground.

“We really screwed up Steve.”

“I know.”

They had. There was no denying it and Steve would be lying if he didn’t say he’d do it all again. Well…maybe not quite like that. The grief and anger in Tony’s eyes flashed in front of him again and Steve felt sick. He should have told him about his parents. It had been wrong not too, but Steve had been so sure it would be disastrous. It was, but Tony didn’t deserve to find out while Bucky was standing right next to him, nobody did.

What were words, what were reassurances that Bucky hadn’t been himself against the sound of your father’s head being cracked or the snap of your mother’s neck? He looked at Bucky, could see the guilt as clear as day. It hadn’t been him, but it certainly felt like it was.

Steve tugged gently and Bucky nodded. Within moments they were sliding into the small twin bed, beneath scratchy fabric, and pressed close together. They faced one another, foreheads touching gently, breath ghosting across their faces. Arms hung loosely on bare hips and legs tangled in an impossible puzzle.

This was a small comfort. Tomorrow there would be problems to solve and running to do. Already Steve knew what message to send Tony, needed him to understand that just because he wasn’t there, he’d always be loyal.

“The nightmares,” Bucky hesitated, eyes closed. “They can get pretty bad.”

“Ok. I’ll be here,” it was the only promise he could make when so much had gone wrong. He’d be there, always, for as long as Bucky needed him.

So much had been broken because of him, but not this.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing Stucky and I had some fun with it. I am anti teams because both men had well established reasons for their actions and were simply being human. Nobody was right and nobody was particularly wrong so none of that bull here.


End file.
